


Not Gay

by beltainefaerie



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, M/M, Misunderstandings, Sexuality
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-15
Updated: 2014-04-26
Packaged: 2017-12-20 07:46:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/884763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beltainefaerie/pseuds/beltainefaerie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock makes a deduction. Will it work out as he plans?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. There's Always Something

**Author's Note:**

> This piece deals with John Watson's sexuality. What impact do society's rigid sexuality boxes have on our self-construct and life choices? I am not sure where this is headed, but I wanted to share as I explore. This might end up in johnlock or might go a different direction altogether. I would love to hear your thoughts in the comments.
> 
> Thanks, as always, to my beta, mistresskikishiphassailed.

They ran up the stairs, glad to be home after their harrowing escape. High on adrenaline, it seemed like the best time for it. Sherlock turned around, pressing John against the door as it clicked closed, leaning down to press their lips together. John returned the kiss for a moment, before planting his hands squarely against Sherlock’s chest, pushing lightly.

“Sherlock, stop!” Sherlock did stop and looked into John’s eyes. “How many times have you heard me say that I’m not gay?”

“32”, Sherlock said without thinking, eyeing John more warily. This wasn’t going at all as he intended.

“Bloody hell, Sherlock it wasn’t a literal question. Wait, you counted? Shit, nevermind, that’s not the point.”

“Well, people say things they don’t mean all the time, especially as it relates to how others perceive them. Like telling someone you like their dress when it makes them look dowdy, but you know it is new and don’t want to hurt their feelings or for them to think you are rude. Oh, don’t look at me like that. Just because I don’t bother with it doesn’t mean I don’t understand it. Besides, people lie even more when it comes to self preservation. You’ve spent most of your life in the company of military men and rugby players. I am not totally unaware of the stigma being attracted to men carries. So if your actions always skewed towards the women you fancied, it is perfectly understandable.”

John clenched and unclenched his fist, sorting through anger, shock, awe, and the slightest trace of fear.

Sherlock never-knows-when-to-stop Holmes continued, “You look at me more often than you look at anyone else, you come with me even when you are doing something else, even something that you consider important. You’ve left dates, you’ve even occasionally left work to come with me. You look at me like I am precious to you, and you have killed to protect me. More than just occasionally, you stare at me when you think I’m not paying attention. You also stare at my lips most often, and frequently while licking yours, as though you subconsciously wonder what I taste like. You want to kiss me but your self-construct says that you are not gay, so you needed me to make the first move.”

“Brilliant deduction,” John said, but managed it in tone that distinctly said piss off. Sherlock took a step back.

“Just because you see something in my eyes or lingering glances of whatever the hell, doesn’t mean I am here for you to take. Before doing something that might be jarring to a person’s identity, you bloody well ought to talk to them first."

John let out a sigh before adding, “I need air. I’m going out and we can sort this when I get back.” Sherlock looked so forlorn and vulnerable for a moment, it took a fair amount of resolve to turn away, but John needed space. He turned back to add, “Order take away from the Thai place we had last Wednesday and I’ll pick it up on my way back.”


	2. Chapter 2

_What the bloody hell, Sherlock?_ John couldn’t leave fast enough. He practically ran down the stairs and scarcely slackened his pace as he continued around the block.  He wasn’t even aware of the way he continued to clench and unclench his fist, but his steps didn’t falter.

 

He left to clear his head, but it still felt cluttered, crowded.

 

His thoughts kept coming back to that lab in Baskerville and Sherlock’s absolute willingness to do whatever he wished to solve a puzzle, to test a theory. Was that it then?  He had a theory and needed to know if it was true? Just an experiment? They had just finished a case, though.  Not generally enough time for the boredom to set in.  Certainly not enough time for it to go destructive.

 

He tried not to think about Sherlock’s lips against his.

 

He’d had a lifetime of kisses.  Innocent first kisses, kisses that barely ghosted against a partner’s throat, building in heat and daring for what he hoped would come next.  Kisses at the height of pleasure just before everything exploded in the glorious white-out of orgasm. Kisses to end fights, that were almost violent in their passion. All different.

 

Susan was the first, behind the building just at the end of morning break on beautiful Spring day in Year 4. Her cherry lip balm was sweet and her lips were even softer than they had looked.  She had blushed and they held hands on the way back to class. He felt pleasantly tingly for the rest of the day. There had been many other kisses, with her and with many who came after, but there was something special about firsts.

 

He was sorry to say that he couldn’t name all the girls from his time in the service. While his mates made a bigger deal about it than it was, “Three Continents” Watson was not actually inaccurate.

 

Sarah was sweet and funny and they had such good chemistry. It was a pity she couldn’t handle the chaos, but she needed calm, stability. And really, getting kidnapped and nearly killed on a first date tended to put a damper on things.

 

Jeanette kept trying to lead, which was distracting.  It was one thing to make the first move and quite another to want to control the action all the time. They really hadn’t been working out, emotionally or physically, so why had it been so disappointing when things ended? He thought he knew, as his thoughts circled back around to her final words. How she was sure that he and Sherlock would be very happy together.  She was one of a few recent girlfriends who acted like there was some kind of sham going, which was as incensing as it was inaccurate.

 

They weren’t together.  Never had been.  But didn’t it say something that even his own girlfriends thought they were? Sherlock had hit on it.  He had been ignoring any feelings he had. But what did it mean?  He _wasn’t_ gay. He hadn’t been faking with the girls he had been with.  He certainly hadn’t been picturing anyone else when he was with them!

 

But he couldn’t dodge the question this time. _Did he want Sherlock?_ There were layers of feeling there, undeniably. John was perfectly aware that he kissed back for a moment. So while his brain kept saying not like that, his body had been more than willing to engage, which he couldn’t summon the energy to deny. So, what then?

If he was willing to kill for a man, why was kissing a problem?  And there had never been a kiss quite like this, had there?

 

He was in such a daze, he almost didn’t stop at the kerb, earning an angry honk from a taxi as it hurtled past, jerking him out of his thoughts for a moment. Christ. How long had he been walking? He still had no idea what to say to Sherlock, but he was sure he had been gone long enough that he ought to fetch the Thai. It had to be ready now, whether or not he was.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brief mentions of childhood bullying and abuse. If you think that ought to be tagged, please let me know.
> 
> Thanks to Shellysbees for looking over this chapter!

Sherlock had always known he was gay, if anything. Men held some interest, when anyone did. But emotions were messy and distracting. More so when your mere existence ranged from freak to radical political statement depending on your location and perceived social status. _Can’t it just be? Why does it all have to be so bloody complicated._

Sherlock watched John go with sadness, fighting down full-scale panic. It would be foolish and unproductive, he knew, but despite the futility of it all, he wanted to run after John, to grab him and pull him back inside. Not give him space. Not wait around.

Mostly, he wanted more of that fleeting moment when John’s lips had pressed fully against his, barely parted, when he was sure he had felt just the whisper of John’s tongue brush his lower lip, shortly before it all went pear shaped.

He had wanted to know what kissing John would feel like for ages, but he wasn’t prepared for that. Not the kiss, certainly not the abrupt ending. His voice sounded petulant even in his own head, but all he could think was, _that wasn’t how this was supposed to go._

_Stupid. Of course he would have wanted things on his own terms. You don’t ignore these things all your life and suddenly…no. Of course it had just made John angry._

_Stupidstupidstupid_

\----

When John was four, Da had caught him playing dress up with Harry. He had loved the way the silver tiara sparkled in the light and he wanted to be a prince just like in the fairytales his Mum told. Da had snatched the plastic crown and snapped it in half before giving him a spanking he would never forget. He was summarily plopped in the middle of his room with his action man, three trucks and the admonition to ‘stop acting like goddamn girl’.

It had been her favorite crown and Harry had never quite forgiven either of them.

John didn’t understand what being a prince had to do with being a girl, but he didn’t play dress up any more.

\----

Sherlock shook himself out of his thoughts long enough to find the takeaway menu. He chose John’s favorites over his own and even remembered to pay with his credit card, so John only had to pick it up. Perhaps the thoughtfulness would go towards an apology. He took two plates out of the cupboard and forks from the drawer. He tidied away his experiment from the counter and the table. He even labeled the components that he needed for later before tucking them into the fridge.

With that done, he stalked over to the couch, flopping down, and let his thoughts chase one another. Round and round, fingers steepled under his chin. 

_If I had asked John first, he likely would have said no and been upset anyway. At least I know what kissing him is like, now._

He cocked his head slightly to the side.

 _Yes, but if I knew he would have said no, I really shouldn’t have, and besides what good was it to know and never have it happen again. But it was good. Surely if it was that good he felt it too? Well, there is only so much socialization you can undo with a single kiss and he may be too spooked now to do anything else._

Releasing his hands, Sherlock sat up.

_Although, if he did feel the chemistry, that will begin to work on him too, and perhaps he will come to the necessary conclusion that this is perfect._

_Or at least worth a go._

Sherlock leapt up and began pacing, his thoughts too frantic for staying in one place.

_On the other hand, people rarely find that spending time thinking about my actions leads them to wanting to be near me. The opposite, in fact. And I did kiss John quite without his permission, so... reprehensible at best._

 _But it was valuable data. For both of us. Wasn’t it? I mean how could he not have enjoyed that?_

Sherlock huffed out a breath.

_Because he isn’t gay, you idiot._

_But he loves me. It is positively clear that he loves me. He wouldn’t have made the first move, so I_ had _to do it. But now John is angry. What if he moves out? He is going to move out. There isn’t much chance to apologise or ever, ever get to shag him if he is moving out. This really was a terrible plan. The worst. Though possibly not as bad as not having kissed him._

Round and round. _Should I have? Should I not have?_

I suppose it doesn’t matter at all, since I already did.

\-----

When John was eight, he was pitching and his team lost. Three of the boys cornered him after school, shoving him and taunting. “We lost because of you!”, ”You throw like a girl!” He really didn’t understand. They were clearly insulting him, but Harry threw better than anyone he knew, so it just didn’t make sense. Apparently pointing out that your sister “throws better than any of you lot anyway and if you could run maybe we wouldn’t have lost the bloody match,” only earned you a black eye. Of course, by the time they were done, there were punches thrown on both sides and his wasn’t the only eye blackened. 

At least getting in a fight was manly enough for his Da to look proud. Clapping him on the shoulder, he said, “I’m sure you gave as good as you got,” as he tended John’s wounds, especially his hands, in a rare show of affection.

\----

John took a deep breath and climbed the stairs. It was nice that Sherlock had remembered the order and had even paid for it. He clutched the bags and began the climb up to 221B. He still didn’t know how to begin. Christ. He didn’t even know what he wanted. 

He opened the door.

“Got the Thai,” John noted, by way of greeting and walked into the kitchen. “Thanks,” he added, both in reference to purchasing them meal and to the plates already on the counter.

“John, I-” Sherlock began, but John cut him off.

“I need to know, why, Sherlock. Was this just a theory you couldn’t resist testing? What did you want from this?”

“I thought I made that obvious, John.” Sherlock turned away, not meeting John’s gaze. “My miscalculation was in thinking that _you_ would want this when it happened.”

John answered only with a noncommittal hum and began plating the Thai. And, though he looked like he would rather eat glass, Sherlock closed his eyes and added, “I’m sorry,” and John knew him enough to be able to tell when he was shamming. This sounded sincere.

“Ta. I appreciate that. But one walk about isn’t nearly enough to sort this. Just give me a bit, yeah?”

“Of course,” Sherlock said pragmatically. They dropped it. _Well,_ Sherlock thought, as they ate in relative silence, _that didn’t sound completely like no. And at least he isn’t planning to move out immediately. All told, things could have gone much, much worse._


End file.
